


Get Out Of My Head (And Into My Bed)

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [18]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combeferre pines just a little, Kink Meme, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, R is a tease, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1686344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It started (and Combeferre would have liked to have said it ended, but that would be a lie) at one of his son’s many sleepovers."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fill for the prompt on the kink meme:</p><p>Combeferre/R age difference<br/>teenage R sleeping with his best friend's dad, combeferre</p><p>bonus if:<br/>- R is the one who seduced combeferre<br/>- they fuck with combeferre's son in the next room</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Out Of My Head (And Into My Bed)

**Author's Note:**

> I started to fill this ages ago and never got round to finishing it until now.
> 
> Grantaire is 17 (which is over the legal age of consent in UK) while Combeferre is 39. There is a brief (blink-and-you'll-miss-it) mention of daddy kink - it's just brought up as a tease rather than actual kink so I haven't tagged it as such but just thought I'd mention it.

It started (and Combeferre would have liked to have said it ended, but that would be a lie) at one of his son’s many sleepovers.

When they had first moved, Combeferre had been concerned that Courfeyrac might find the transition hard, given that it was so late in his son’s school career. Of course, that fear had proved unfounded; Courfeyrac was the quintessential social butterfly, a skill he must have inherited from his mother. Within a few days the house had been filled with boys and girls, all of them shaking Combeferre’s hand politely, before escaping to either Courfeyrac’s room, or taking over the living room with pizza and video games.

Combeferre didn’t mind. He was glad his son was happy. He remembered being seventeen like it was last week, that it wasn’t an easy time. Not that being thirty-nine was much better. Sometimes he felt, emotionally, that he was still in his twenties; young, happy, not divorced – although nothing could make him regret his failed marriage if it meant having Courfeyrac in his life. That kid was amazing, his little ball of sunshine who made him proud on a daily basis.

But then there was Grantaire.

“This is my dad,” Courfeyrac had gestured vaguely in his father’s direction. Combeferre looked up from his desk to smile at the latest kid to invade his home and found himself staring into soft brown eyes framed by ridiculously curly hair. The kid was taller than Courfeyrac and broader in the shoulders.

“Hi, Courfeyrac’s dad!” the kid stuck his hand out and Combeferre was so surprised, he automatically reached out and took it. The youth’s skin was rougher than he expected beneath his fingers. Combeferre felt heat rise up the back of his neck as those brown eyes sparkled at him, and the boy’s mouth twisted into a smile revealing a row of slightly uneven teeth.

“And you are?” Combeferre finally managed to find his voice.

Courfeyrac elbowed his friend in the side, rolling his eyes. Grantaire dropped Combeferre’s hand, bringing his own up to rub the back of his neck, still grinning.

“I’m Grantaire,” he replied. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Grantaire,” Combeferre looked away, returning his attention to his paperwork.

“Come on, R,” Courfeyrac tugged on his mate’s shirt. “Let’s go upstairs to my room!”

And that was how Grantaire just strolled oh-so-casually into his life.

+

At least three days out of five, Combeferre came home from work to find Grantaire lounging on the sofa, or with his books spread out on the dining room table with Courfeyrac. Or maybe he’d set his briefcase down and from upstairs there would come a bark of laughter followed by the more recognisable giggle from Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac.

Combeferre felt unbelievably guilty about the warm feeling that developed in his gut whenever Grantaire looked up at him, grinning broadly, giving him a wave and calling out cheerfully “Hi, Courfeyrac’s dad!”

Combeferre would smile back and then lock himself in his study, using his work to drive out the invading thoughts of how those curls would feel between his fingers, or how that mouth would feel…

No. Grantaire was seventeen. Grantaire was Courfeyrac’s friend. Grantaire probably wasn’t even into guys; even if he was he definitely wouldn’t be interested in middle-aged divorcee single parents.

+

When Courfeyrac had requested permission for a sleepover Combeferre had agreed readily enough. All his son’s chores for the week had been done, as promised. His homework was completed and his grades were good, so Combeferre gave his blessing. He had also agreed to allow beer at the sleepover, a little less readily and with a lot more discussion about responsibility. 

The night of the sleepover, the living room had been transformed by an invading army of sleeping bags, bowls of crisps and boys shouting and arguing over what film to watch next. Combeferre sat in his bedroom trying to read his book. He glanced at the clock, trying to decide how much of an uncool parent he would be if he went down and reminded the boys that there were neighbours with children next door.

As he passed the bathroom, the door opened and someone stepped out onto the landing, colliding with Combeferre. 

“Oh god, sorry!” Combeferre apologised, reaching out to catch whoever it was. There was a quiet chuckle and Combeferre’s fingers burned.

“That’s ok, Courfeyrac’s dad,” Grantaire grinned. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” They were still standing very close, too close really. Combeferre could see the slight crook in the boy’s nose, the teenage scruff on his chin where he hadn’t shaved today, and he could smell the vague hint of deodorant and something else that reminded him of playing cricket in summer.

“You know, you can call me Combeferre,” Combeferre took a step back, taking control of the situation. Grantaire’s eyes widened a little but he nodded.

“Ok,” he ran his tongue over his lower lip and there was no way that was an accident. “Combeferre.”

The older man took a moment to enjoy how his name sounded on Grantaire’s lips before snapping back to reality.

“Do you want a beer?” It was the first thing that popped into his head and as the words left his mouth he felt like an idiot. Surely the living room was already packed with bottles containing all sorts. But Grantaire didn’t laugh at him. Instead, he shot Combeferre a shy smile.

“Sure, thanks,” the boy replied.

They made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, past the living room where there was still laughter to be heard. As he passed a cupboard, Combeferre reached in to grab the tin of biscuits, setting it onto the sideboard next to the fridge.

Combeferre reached into the fridge to retrieve a beer. When he stood back up he was surprised to find Grantaire right behind him.

“Thank you for letting us take over your house,” Grantaire smiled, taking the beer from Combeferre’s hands. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, throwing his head back, revealing a long expanse of neck in an inviting gesture which Combeferre attempted to ignore.

“So, what are you studying?” That was a neutral topic, right? That was a normal question for someone to ask their kid’s friend. The boy shrugged.

“I’m in Courf’s politics class. I study Art and History as well,” he shrugged his shoulders again, and Combeferre was distressed to see the open smile disappear. He wasn’t sure what he’d said but he decided a swift change of subject was in order. Inexplicably his brain, usually so reliable and cool under pressure, had descended into fluff. He groped around blindly for some neutral topic to get them back on track. For some reason he didn’t want Grantaire to return to the living room.

“So, er, do you drive?” He winced at the desperation of the question, but he was surprised when Grantaire’s face clouded with confusion.

“You’re not going to ask me what I want to do?” he looked incredulous. 

“Well, no. I always hated that question at your age. I’m nearly forty and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life!” he let out a small laugh and was pleased when Grantaire did the same. He did that; he made this boy laugh. 

He reached for the biscuit tin at the same moment Grantaire extended his hand, their fingers brushing, sending a chill up Combeferre’s spine. He expected Grantaire to pull away, to shrug or laugh. What he didn’t expect was for Grantaire’s thumb to brush the top of his hand. 

Combeferre’s breath hitched and he looked up at the boy staring right back at him, a question mark on his young face. Then the boy moved, stepping closer, right into Combeferre’s personal space. Combeferre closed his eyes and tried to take a steadying breath but instead he inhaled a lungful of the young vibrant youth in front of him.

“R!” There was a shout from the hallway. “Did you die up there?!”

Grantaire huffed, stepping back, shaking his head slightly. He reached over Combeferre to grab the beer bottle from the side and, with a final wink at Combeferre he disappeared from view, leaving Combeferre feeling bereft, horrified and harder than he had been in years.

“Just getting a drink!” Combeferre heard him call out in the hallway. Once he was certain the door to the living room was closed, he returned back upstairs to his room. He didn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes he thought of Grantaire pressed up against him. The way Grantaire’s mouth had framed that beer bottle. The memory of the way the boy swallowed haunted Combeferre the whole night.

+

“Hey dad! I’m just dropping Greg home. Be about fifteen minutes?” Courfeyrac stuck his head round the door of the study, raising his eyebrows which Combeferre translated as a request for permission to take the car.

Combeferre had not slept well the night before and had risen late. By the time he’d made his way downstairs, most of the boys had already rolled up their sleeping bags, helped with the general sweep up from the night before and retreated with varying degrees of hangover. As Courfeyrac closed the front door, Combeferre assumed that was the last of them. However, he jumped slightly as his study door creaked open once more.

“Hi,” Grantaire peered round the door. Combeferre tried to arrange his features into something neutral as he looked up.

“I just wanted to say thanks. Thank you for having me.” It sounded rather stilted coming from someone who Combeferre was sure spent more time here than in his own home. 

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome.” Combeferre swallowed, turning back to his work, hoping the boy would leave because he wasn’t sure how much his willpower could take.

Of course the boy didn’t leave. He walked across the room and leaned against Combeferre’s desk, looking down at the older man, frowning slightly.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice soft with a strange underlying vulnerability.

“Grantaire –” Combeferre rubbed his eyes.

“I thought you liked me,” the boy whispered softly.

Oh this was wrong. This was such a mess. Combeferre sighed, turning round fully to face Grantaire. 

“You do realise this can’t happen,” he said seriously, deciding not to patronise the boy by pretending he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Why not?”

“Well,” Combeferre spluttered. He knew the answer to that question. He had a long list that his mind had constructed over the past eleven hours instead of being asleep.

“I am right, aren’t I?” Grantaire cocked his head to one side, fixing Combeferre with a look. “You do like me.” It wasn’t even a question by that point. Combeferre gaped, trying to find the right words. He stood up, hoping that being on his feet would somehow facilitate his thinking process.

“That’s really beside the point,” Combeferre tried again. But he didn’t get much further because Grantaire was suddenly kissing him.

Ok, this really should stop. He needed to stop kissing Grantaire right now. Except that his hands were not pushing the boy away, they were pulling him closer, one knotting in soft brown curls which felt more delightful than Combeferre had imagined, the other grasping at Grantaire’s hip, pushing his t-shirt out of the way so his fingers rested against warm skin.

Finally, somewhere in the back of his head it registered just what he was doing and he pulled away, shocked. Grantaire stood there, his curls askew from where Combeferre had run his hand through them and his lips kissed red. He looked positively debauched.

“That,” Combeferre struggled for breath, trying to ignore how most of the blood in his body appeared to be rushing south. “That should never have happened.”

“Please don’t say that,” Grantaire’s expression dropped to one of devastation, like Combeferre had kicked him.

“Grantaire, I’m twice your age!” Combeferre tried to step back, to put some space between himself and the boy. “It’s a gross abuse of trust.”

Grantaire pouted and that really shouldn’t have been hot.

“Why? You’re not my teacher. You’re not a guardian -”

“No, but I am in loco parentis while you are in this house,” Combeferre tried to sound firm, to sound convincing, but his lips still tingled from where Grantaire had nipped at them.

“Look, don’t tell me you don’t like me,” Grantaire was scowling now, but there was something else. A sort of glint. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You like me. Well, that was me telling you I like you too.”

Combeferre opened and shut his mouth a few times as he processed the information. Grantaire liked him. Grantaire had noticed him, had noticed Combeferre glancing at him and liked him back.

“I…” Combeferre’s brain had shut down completely and he realised he was backed up against the study wall, Grantaire advancing upon him.

“I really like you,” Grantaire maintained eye contact as he moved into Combeferre’s personal space. Reaching forward he grabbed Combeferre’s shoulders, pushing the older man against the wall, pressing his whole body up against him before kissing him once more.

Combeferre surrendered, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being pinned against a wall while having his lips forced apart, a curious tongue licking into his mouth. Once again his hands found Grantaire’s waist and he found himself enjoying how the young man rolled his hips suggestively against him, letting out a muffled moan against soft lips.

The bang of the front door brought him to his senses, though thankfully he was spared the embarrassment of pushing Grantaire away as the boy moved of his own free will as they were interrupted again by Courfeyrac’s impeccable timing.

“Halloo, I’m back!” Courfeyrac called out. Grantaire smirked at Combeferre, rolling his eyes before turning towards the door. The older man brought the back of his hand to his face, as though to hide his lips which he was sure were now swollen and practically a neon sign to what had recently occurred.

“Hey,” Grantaire stepped out of the study, calling a greeting to his friend.

“Oh, hey,” Combeferre heard Courfeyrac reply, a note of curiosity and surprise colouring his tone. “What were you doing in my dad’s study?” 

Courf’s voice filtered down the hallway as the two boys went into the kitchen, presumably in search of a drink. Combeferre paused by his own study door, not closing it fully just yet, holding his breath for Grantaire’s answer.

 _Sticking my tongue down your dad’s throat_.

“He was showing me a book about the anatomy of moths,” he could hear the shrug in Grantaire’s tone and really, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at how easily the boy lied, or how convincing it was.

“Sorry about that. He can be a bit odd sometimes,” Courfeyrac closed the fridge door and Combeferre blushed at his son’s words, though he supposed he deserved them for eavesdropping.

“Actually I think your dad is kind of cool,” Grantaire ventured. There was a pause and Combeferre could imagine the expression on his son’s face, as though Grantaire had just grown another head. Combeferre held his breath.

“What?!”

“Well, he’s nothing like my parents.” Grantaire was on the stairs now, heading up, presumably with Courfeyrac behind him.

Combeferre didn’t hear the rest of the conversation as Courf slammed his bedroom door shut. He tried to get some work done but really there was absolutely no point because his brain was full of the seventeen year old boy who had just kissed him harder than he’d ever been kissed in his life.

He was so fucked.

+

The next twelve days were nothing short of torture for Combeferre. He wasn’t quite sure what was worse; Grantaire being in the house or Grantaire not being in the house. When he was at work, Combeferre tried to apply himself but he couldn’t help his mind wandering back to his home, to his study, to the memory of his back against the wall, to the thought of Grantaire.

When he got home there was always that moment of panic about what might be inside, followed either by a warmth he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge at the sound of a familiar bark of laughter filtering down the stairs from Courf’s room, or the sinking feeling in his gut when he realised his son was sitting alone on the sofa in the living room.

Grantaire appeared to be systematically torturing him. The boy grinned and laughed and said “hi, Courfeyrac’s dad!” as though nothing had changed, as though the moment in Combeferre’s study on Saturday morning had been a figment of Combeferre’s imagination. But in addition to that, there were casual brushes of skin as Grantaire squeezed past his mate’s dad to get to the fridge, or the sink, or the sofa, or up the stairs. He seemed to drop a lot of things as well, bending from the waist to give Combeferre an excellent view as he retrieved his pencil, phone, text book or whatever else it was that had somehow succumbed to gravity.

However that was all. He didn’t seek Combeferre out, even though Combeferre left his study door open. He didn’t linger, or crack any remarks over the dinner table. For three days in a row he didn’t come over at all.

“Is everything ok between you and Grantaire?” Combeferre asked, attempting to sound casual but with a strange tightness in his chest. What if Courfeyrac had found out what had happened and he and Grantaire had fallen out? But he was fairly sure his son would have made his feelings known by now.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“Jeez, dad,” he grumbled, sounding thoroughly put-upon. “The guy doesn’t actually live here. Weren’t you saying just the other day that you were going to have to start charging him rent?”

“There’s no need to speak to me like that,” he frowned, wincing internally at his own tone and then at Courfeyrac’s look of surprise. Usually they could talk together quite candidly and enjoyed a fair bit of father-and-son banter. Courf shrugged his shoulders, before heading off to his room, probably to sulk. Combeferre sighed, retreating to his study. This was getting out of hand.

\+ 

“Is everything ok?” 

It was Thursday evening and Courfeyrac was helping his father with the dishes. Grantaire hadn’t been over in four days. Combeferre looked over to his son, trying to formulate a smile.

“I’m fine,” Combeferre replied, far too aware of the false brightness in his tone. Courfeyrac gave him an unimpressed look which made Combeferre chuckle.

“I am, really. Just lots of things at work.” His tone sounded a little more sincere this time and he was relieved when Courf nodded, turning to put a dish in a cupboard.

“Would you mind if Grantaire stayed over tomorrow night? We have a project we want to work on for school.”

“And you’re telling me you’re going to do homework on a Friday night?” Combeferre raised a sceptical eyebrow at his son’s innocent expression. “Even though I’ve known you your whole life and such a thing has never yet happened?”

Courfeyrac huffed impatiently, pouting slightly, waiting for his father to provide a serious answer. Combeferre sighed. Part of him really wanted to say no, but another bit, a bit he was still a little too terrified to acknowledge, really wanted to say yes.

“Dad, please? All my chores are done. And we will get our homework done, I promise!” 

“Of course it’s fine,” he replied, feeling ever so slightly guilty at the dazzling smile he got in return.

+

When Combeferre got home on Friday night, he found both boys in the dining room, table covered with books and papers.

“Well we’re not going to be able to eat dinner off the table when it looks like that!” he stated. Courfeyrac instantly started apologising, gathering papers and stuffing them into folders.

“Sorry, dad, we lost track of the time,” he looked up apologetically but Combeferre held up his hands.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about you putting stuff away now, did I?” he smiled at his son, slightly aware of Grantaire in his peripheral vision. “You carry on! I’ll go order pizza.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Courfeyrac let out a whoop of delight as he went to get the menu off the fridge.

+

Combeferre heard the bathroom door close and the lock snap shut. He had been lying in bed for about two hours now but sleep was still eluding him. Grantaire had barely looked at him all night. Maybe the kid had changed his mind. Maybe kissing Combeferre had gotten whatever it was out of his system, or maybe reality hadn’t measured up to the fantasies. Either way, whatever it was, Grantaire seemed over it. 

That was good. That was the way it should be. Combeferre should not be lusting after the friends of his son. So why did he feel so hollow?

There was the sound of the flush followed by running water and the bathroom door opened once more. Footsteps shuffled across the landing carpet but they didn’t stop at Courfeyrac’s door. Combeferre held his breath when he heard his bedroom door creak open.

His brain flashed blank. Did he confront whoever it was or did he pretend to be asleep? He knew it was Grantaire. For one thing, Courf would have turned the light on and, for another he would have knocked. Courfeyrac had once been horribly sick in the night and the poor kid had still knocked before entering his parents’ bedroom.

In the end, he sat up, but he didn’t flick on the light. He could see Grantaire’s shadow hovering by the door. The boy looked absolutely terrified as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing. He was clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, hair sticking up all over the place. His legs were long and skinny but his arms were toned, the flesh pale and inviting. Combeferre tried not to imagine sinking his teeth into those supple muscles.

“I, er, couldn’t sleep,” Grantaire whispered, eyes wide. Combeferre knew he should tell the kid to go away, to go back to bed, but he just didn’t have it in him. Instead he threw back the bed clothes.

“Get in, before you freeze,” he ordered, keeping his voice just as low. Grantaire’s eyes widened just for a second, before hopping across the room and into the bed. Once they had finished shuffling, getting the duvet in order, they lay facing each other, neither quite sure what to say to the other.

“What do you want, Grantaire?” Combeferre asked when it became clear the boy wasn’t going to say anything.

“I don’t know,” came the uncertain reply. “I really like you? And I think you like me, but you’re my best friend’s dad and most of the time I think it doesn’t matter, but then sometimes I see how you frown or you’ll be talking to Courf and I feel guilty because he’s my best mate but you’re really hot and –”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre interrupted gently, and the boy snapped his mouth shut. Slowly, giving Grantaire plenty of time to refuse, Combeferre leant forward to kiss the boy in his bed.

Grantaire returned the kiss immediately, parting his lips invitingly. Combeferre felt hands reach for him, palms hot against his chest. He shuffled closer until they were pressed together, wrapping themselves round each other, the darkness of the room somehow making it easier. Grantaire pulled away briefly to pull off his t-shirt, throwing it on the floor, before returning to kiss Combeferre hard.

This was wrong. This was so wrong. Courfeyrac was asleep in the next room. He could wake at any moment and discover that Grantaire was missing. What if he found them together in bed?

The sensation of Grantaire thrusting against his thigh whilst trying to stifle a moan swiftly drowned those thoughts out. Instead, he pressed a hand across Grantaire’s arse, pulling the boy closer to him.

“Fuck!” Grantaire muttered, squirming in Combeferre’s arms. 

“Don’t swear,” Combeferre replied automatically, before kissing down the boy’s throat, sucking gently at the base of his neck, his hand squeezing the firm cheeks beneath Grantaire’s boxers.

“Sorry… daddy,” Grantaire muttered. And oh Christ that should not be hot. There is no way Combeferre should find that attractive and if you had asked him three hours ago he would have refuted ever finding such a term to be a turn-on. But hearing Grantaire’s breathy moans threw that theory thoroughly out of the window. He bit down hard on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“There’s my good boy,” he whispered, pressing his lips close to the shell of Grantaire’s ear.

So far they had kept things decidedly above the waist, hands exploring and clutching while they mouthed at each other’s skin, Combeferre trying hard to contain himself and not mark the boy like he wanted to. Grantaire was bucking and rolling his hips against Combeferre, his erection and frustration evident. Then his hand slid down Combeferre’s chest and curious fingers tugged at the waistband of his boxers.

“Please,” he gasped. “May I?”

“What do you want?” Combeferre asked him again. He wanted to know exactly what Grantaire was offering here before he agreed to anything.

“Can I blow you?”

Combeferre closed his eyes because the sight of Grantaire with mussy hair and starry eyes asking permission to go down on him was almost too much. When he opened them Grantaire was looking at him with a look of open amusement on his face.

“Can I suck your cock, please? It would make me very happy and I think you might like it too,” he smirked, cheekily.

“Anything to shut you up,” Combeferre replied, leaning forward to bestow a final kiss before lying back against the bedhead. Grantaire flashed an impish grin before disappearing beneath the duvet, shuffling down the bed, coming to rest between Combeferre’s thighs. Scrawny legs stuck out of the bottom of the bed. If anyone was to walk in now there would be no explaining away; it would be perfectly obvious what they were doing.

Combeferre had been with a few guys when he was at university but he couldn’t remember ever having been sucked off like this. Dear god, the boy could give head! It shouldn’t be right that someone of seventeen could employ their tongue so efficiently. 

He started off slowly, with long gentle licks up Combeferre’s shaft, tonguing and suckling the head, testing the weight of it against his tongue, before hollowing his cheeks and slowly taking more and more of Combeferre into his mouth.

Combeferre tried to control his breathing, acutely aware of his volume, trying not to worry about imaginary footsteps on the landing. In the end, he pulled a pillow over his head so that he could groan without worrying about how loud he was being, because the way Grantaire was sucking him had potential to make him very loud indeed.

He was aware of Grantaire’s hands, how they moved up his thighs, how his fingers pressed at his perineum, how they teased and cupped his balls; the way they skirted Combeferre’s hole, making him shudder. He tried to keep his hips still but it was almost impossible, he so desperately wanted to fuck up into that delightful warm, wet mouth.

“Grantaire,” he hissed, reaching down, his hands brushing over soft curls. “I’m going to come,” he warned. Grantaire pulled off him, kneeling up suddenly. Combeferre huffed, so unbelievably close, but then Grantaire was back, taking the man in hand.

“Please, could you -?” Grantaire sounded wrecked but Combeferre understood. The boy had pulled down his boxers, revealing his own cock, hard and leaking pre-come. Combeferre sat forward, curling his fist round the boy, bringing him towards climax while Grantaire did the same for him. Combeferre came first, hissing through his orgasm as it splashed over his chest and Grantaire’s fist. Grantaire wasn’t that far behind, letting out a small cry which he tried to stifle by biting down on his own hand. They both collapsed back against the mattress, breathing hard in the darkness, their hearts thumping.

After a moment, Combeferre reached over to the tissues on the bedside table, passing some over to Grantaire so he could clean himself up. Then he pulled the boy into his arms and just held him, enjoying how warm he was in his arms, how nice it was to be able to hold somebody in bed again.

“I can’t stay here, can I?” Grantaire’s voice was muffled against his chest. He sounded sleepy and Combeferre couldn’t help but smile.

“I wish you could,” he muttered, and was surprised to find that he meant it too. He wanted to wake up in the morning next to this boy, see him groggy from sleep, perhaps have morning sex. Grantaire sighed, pulling himself away from Combeferre’s arms, sitting on the side of the bed as he pulled his t-shirt back over his head. Combeferre watched him with a strange tightness in his chest.

“Next weekend Courfeyrac is going to his mother’s,” Grantaire looked over his shoulder to show that he was listening. Combeferre took a deep breath and finished the sentence before he could change his mind. 

“If you want, you can come over once he’s gone.”

+

Combeferre was on edge from the moment Courfeyrac left early on Saturday morning with a cheerful “See you Sunday night!” before heading for the train station. Would Grantaire come? What if he didn’t? What if he did?

But then the doorbell rang and when Combeferre answered, there stood Grantaire, looking decidedly nervous but with a broad grin on his face, a rucksack slung over one shoulder.

“Hi,” he grinned, his eyes giving away just how he really felt, that he was still unsure this was what Combeferre wanted.

“Hi,” Combeferre gave him a reassuring smile before stepping back, letting Grantaire enter the house.

Grantaire had walked into his house plenty of times, but they both knew this was different. There was no going back from this. Courfeyrac wasn’t here as some sort of buffer from reality. Grantaire was only here because Combeferre had asked him to be.

Once the door was closed, Combeferre pulled him close, kissing him fiercely. He had missed Grantaire all week. The boy hadn’t been over until Thursday night and by Wednesday Combeferre had begun to panic, thinking that Grantaire had changed his mind.

“Missed you,” he groaned, hands pushing Grantaire backwards until he was up against a wall. Grantaire went willingly, making delicious noises that Combeferre wanted to record and play over again. Instead he pulled back, letting Grantaire at least take his coat off.

“You don’t say!” Grantaire replied cheekily, removing his jacket and turning to hang it up on the hook. He was wearing a pair of unbelievably tight black jeans and no one should look that edible. Combeferre crowded in behind him, pushing the boy once more against the wall, his hand pressed firmly to the seat of Grantaire’s jeans while he breathed in the soft scent of soap and sweat on the back of Grantaire’s neck.

“You’re right,” he groaned, using all his power to hold the boy against the wall, kissing up the back of his neck, hands roving over taut shoulders. Grantaire writhed, trapped between the wall and the man behind him, bucking his hips back to grind against Combeferre.

“I do want you. I want to bend you over, spread your legs, and fuck you into next week.” Grantaire let out a loud moan, fingers trying to find purchase against the wall.

“I want to find out how many different ways there are to make you make this noise,” and with that, Combeferre reached down beneath the waistband of the boy’s jeans and pressed his fingers into the cleft of Grantaire’s arse. The sound Grantaire made in response went straight to Combeferre’s cock.

He grabbed Grantaire, spinning the boy back round to face him, kissing him possessively. If he was going to hell, he may as well do it properly.

“Whenever I’m doing my homework at your kitchen table,” Grantaire gasped against Combeferre’s mouth, “I think of you pushing my school books to the floor and bending me over to fuck me,” Combeferre let out a groan at Grantaire’s words, picturing it all too clearly in his mind’s eye.

“I really want your cock in me,” Grantaire emphasised his point by rolling his hips invitingly.

“I…” Combeferre tried to vocalise what he needed to say, that by god he wanted to bury himself deep inside the youth currently grinding against him, but that it couldn’t happen, not right now. “Grantaire, we need to stop, we can’t do this,” he gasped.

Grantaire pulled away, looking hurt.

“I thought you changed your mind? I thought you wanted this?” The pain in his voice was almost unbearable, and Combeferre reached out to cup his face but Grantaire shied away from him.

“I do want this,” Combeferre reassured. “But if you think we’re going to have sex without using protection or lubricant then I have some seriously bad news for you.”

Light dawned on Grantaire’s face, a wicked smirk quickly replacing the hurt frown, before he deftly evaded Combeferre’s grasp. He headed for the stairs.

Combeferre sighed, turning to follow. As he reached the landing, Grantaire reappeared out of Courfeyrac’s room, clutching a bottle of lubricant and a condom.

“Problem solved!” he beamed, proudly.

Combeferre stared at the objects in Grantaire’s hands and reality smashed in on him. Grantaire’s face faltered.

“Why are those in my son’s room?” Combeferre finally managed to spit out, even if it wasn’t the most eloquent thing he had ever said. “Actually, never mind. Why do you know about them? Are you and he…?”

Combeferre felt vaguely sick. He had only just come round to the idea that he had feelings for this kid; had only just accepted that acting on those feelings might be ok, despite the substantial age gap. But there was no way, no way, not if Grantaire and Courfeyrac had…

“Oh hell no! He’s my best friend,” Grantaire’s tone was dismissive in a typically teenage fashion, as though it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. Combeferre felt every part of him relax in relief.

“Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean…”

There was a rushing sound in Combeferre’s ears and he blinked at the boy in front of him. Oh wow. This was complicated. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated. It was supposed to be fun and they definitely weren’t supposed to be talking about his son but there was no way Combeferre could let that pass.

“He hasn’t told you, has he?” Grantaire looked horrified. Combeferre shook his head.

“Not that it matters in the least, because I will always love him,” he finally spoke, but he felt crushed that Courfeyrac hadn’t been able to trust him with that information yet. “I understand that it isn’t easy and that he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

“Huh,” Grantaire slumped against the wall, pulling a face Combeferre couldn’t quite translate. He walked over to where the boy was leaning, reaching out as though to touch his face before thinking better of it, and choosing to rest a hand on the boy’s shoulder instead.

“I can’t imagine ever telling my parents,” Grantaire muttered, looking every bit the young seventeen year old that he was, large brown eyes turning up to Combeferre looking vaguely lost. “Not that I’m gay,” he said quickly. “Because I’m not. I’m bi, actually,” he looked down at the carpet, twisting his mouth unhappily. Combeferre sighed.

“Grantaire. I don’t care what you are. I’m grateful to you for being able to trust me with that information but it doesn’t change anything at all. I still…” He tried to decide whether this was appropriate given that the moment had most definitely passed. “I still really like you.”

Grantaire gave him a shy smile.

“Yeah?” the boy’s voice was tentative and unsure and Combeferre just wanted to pull him into his arms, so he did, resting a hand on the back of Grantaire’s neck, enjoying the warmth of their bodies pressed together. 

In answer, Combeferre softly brushed his lips at the juncture where Grantaire’s neck met his shoulder, inhaling the delicious scent of the boy’s skin. He felt Grantaire sigh in his arms, arching his neck to give Combeferre better access. Hooking his finger in the boy’s collar, Combeferre pulled Grantaire’s shirt down so that he could mark the boy as he had longed to do, but where it could be readily concealed. As he sucked hard, Grantaire groaned and Combeferre felt a bolt of satisfaction course through him.

“I want you,” he murmured, hands wondering down the boy’s back to rest at his hips, toying with his waistband. Grantaire turned his head and now it was Combeferre’s turn to shudder as Grantaire’s confidence returned, kissing and mouthing at Combeferre’s neck, nuzzling against his skin.

Without words, they pushed and pulled each other towards Combeferre’s bedroom, stumbling through the door. Grantaire set the lube and condom down on the side before lifting Combeferre’s shirt without undoing any of the buttons. Combeferre laughed as the collar got caught on his chin and there was a delightful moment of fumbling as he struggled with the top button, eventually able to pull it over his head. At the same time, Grantaire tore off his own t-shirt and Combeferre took a moment to appreciate his body. 

Grantaire’s youth was evident in his frame. He may have been broader than Courfeyrac but his shoulders were still skinny, his collar bones stark against his skin. His flesh was soft, with hints of puppy fat around his middle despite the toning in his arms. His chest was spattered with the beginnings of hair, heralding the advance of manhood. For now he was still a boy and Combeferre could have wept at the sight of him.

When he looked up, it was to find Grantaire looking away, face flush with embarrassment, his hands drawn across himself protectively.

“I know I’m not much to look at,” he muttered, lower lip pouting slightly as though displeased with his own inadequacies. Combeferre wanted to shake him.

“You are beautiful,” he breathed, staring openly at the way Grantaire’s chest tapered down to his waist, the tuft of hair leading down promisingly from his navel to below the waist of his jeans. Grantaire made a face.

“I take it that it’s been a while,” Grantaire looked thoroughly incredulous that anyone would call him beautiful. Combeferre wanted to argue with him, to sit him down and explain that the way Grantaire looked right now, with the valleys of his collar bones, the soft planes of his boyish chest and the firm expanse of his belly, was absolutely beautiful in Combeferre’s eyes and he couldn’t wait to explore, lick, suck and bite at every available piece of skin.

Instead, he settled for kissing the boy instead, hoping to convey everything he felt whilst at the same time hoping his courage wouldn’t fail him. Because looking at Grantaire just reminded him of all the doubts he had about this whole scenario. Surely Grantaire was too young, Combeferre too old to be touching such a creature.

Grantaire seemed satisfied with the action, returning the kiss with vigour. He took his own opportunity, running his hands over Combeferre’s abdomen, trailing up to his chest before hooking his arms over the man’s shoulders, huffing in contentment.

“You going to fuck me or what?” he muttered cheekily against Combeferre’s lips and the older man could hear his smile. He shoved Grantaire playfully towards the bed, swatting his backside as he went. In a matter of seconds he had shucked his own trousers off before advancing on Grantaire where he reclined on the bed.

“Let’s peel you out of those jeans shall we?” Combeferre’s eyes were glinting, reaching forward to unbutton Grantaire’s fly. In a few tugs, the skinny jeans were in a heap on the floor, leaving Grantaire in just his boxers.

Grantaire was sinfully edible, lying back on Combeferre’s bed as though he owned the place, arms raised above his head. The boy raised a challenging eyebrow and Combeferre snapped back to reality. He climbed on the bed, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Are you sure?” Combeferre needed to hear it, needed to hear Grantaire say that he wanted this, just for his own sanity more than anything. As expected, the teenager rolled his eyes.

“Am I sure I want you to fuck me into your mattress? Yes fucking please!”

Part of Combeferre really wanted to bring up Grantaire’s choice of language, but he settled for lightly teasing his fingers over the top of the boy’s very visible erection which was straining against his boxers. With his little finger he ghosted over the base of Grantaire’s cock while the thumb gently toyed with the head. Grantaire moaned, closing his eyes, hips thrusting up against the light touches.

“Please, just touch me!” he exclaimed, balling his hands into fists and Combeferre smirked at his frustration and impatience. He wanted to drag it out, make the boy wait, make him pay for being such a brat, but he wasn’t sure how long he would last himself and, bizarrely, he didn’t want to let Grantaire down by coming too soon because he spent too long torturing him through foreplay.

It took two tugs to remove Grantaire’s boxers and Combeferre took a moment to admire how Grantaire’s cock sat heavily between his legs, curving up from his hip.

“Do you want to be on your front or your back?” he enquired gently, running his fingers lightly up and down Grantaire’s thigh. Brown eyes looked at him as Grantaire considered. In reply, he spread his legs, lifting them up, maintaining eye contact with the older man. Combeferre watched Grantaire’s adam's apple bob as the boy swallowed.

Combeferre reached over to grab the lube, squeezing a liberal amount on his fingers. Not taking his eyes from the boy on his bed, he slowly traced at Grantaire’s hole, a sense of wonder coursing through him. He couldn’t imagine what he had done to deserve this, to have Grantaire in his bed. He felt thrilled, excited, unable to keep the smile from his face as slowly he pushed forward, breaching Grantaire who gasped in response. 

He took his time, not wanting to rush Grantaire, unable to forget that the boy in his bed was exactly that. He may have been of legal age, but he was still half of Combeferre’s age and while he utilised the language of experience, Combeferre had no intention of rushing things and accidentally hurting Grantaire.

He was tight around Combeferre’s fingers and the elder man could feel him clench at the intrusion.

“Oh, fuck, please,” the boy groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Combeferre grinned, twisting his finger before withdrawing, prompting a growl of frustration.

“Yes,” Grantaire spat out, before Combeferre had a chance to say anything. “Yes, please, another finger, just, please.”

“You’re very demanding,” Combeferre commented, dryly.

“I’ve been waiting for this for ages. Do you have any idea how hot you are when you’re doing that disapproving thing? Or looking over your glasses at me? Or – ah!”

Grantaire’s interesting little speech was brought to a sudden halt as Combeferre pushed two fingers inside him, making the boy arch right off the bed. He whined a little, pushing back against Combeferre’s fingers. 

Taken by the moment, Combeferre leant forward to kiss Grantaire’s bitten lips, feeling ridiculously happy. He lost himself to the sensation, their bodies rocking together as he thrust his fingers deep inside Grantaire, enjoying every whine and gasp his movements produced.

“Please,” Grantaire whispered. “I’m ready, please, just fuck me already.”

“You and I are going to have to talk about your language choices,” Combeferre chided, withdrawing his fingers. Grantaire growled, rolling his eyes as he slammed his head into the pillow.

“Oh, fine!” he huffed. “Please will you be so kind as to ram that charming cock of yours up my arse!”

Combeferre closed his eyes, shaking his head, but his mouth twitched, giving him away. He couldn’t help but smile and, from the smirk on his face, the ridiculous teenager in his bed knew it all too well.

With a final kiss, he drew back, reaching over to get the condom, rolling it on, before looking up at Grantaire, suddenly serious.

“Now,” he said, tone low and firm. “If you need me to stop or slow down, you just say and I’ll stop immediately. Ok?”

Grantaire made a scoffing noise and Combeferre narrowed his eyes.

“Grantaire,” he sighed, because really he needed Grantaire to take this seriously. He seemed to sense this, the boy sobering slightly, eyes light and sincere, a gentle smile replacing the usual smirk.

“Yeah, ok, sorry. And yes, I’ll let you know,” he assured, ducking his head slightly. Combeferre sighed with relief, before the enormity of the situation crashed down on him. _Oh god_ , they were really going to do this.

He shuffled up onto his knees, letting his hands run up Grantaire’s legs, pushing them wide.

“Ok?”

“Yes,” Grantaire confirmed and Combeferre was grateful that the boy seemed to be taking things seriously now. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed forward.

Grantaire hissed, shifted and sighed, releasing his breath slowly as Combeferre breached him.

“Fuck, you’re big,” Grantaire groaned, closing his eyes. Combeferre held his breath, trying not to move. Good god, Grantaire felt amazing. He was tight and accommodating and oh so good, clenching around Combeferre’s cock.

Then they began to move together. It was poetry in motion, the way Grantaire yielded beneath him, his young body pushing back, giving more than Combeferre could ever have imagined. All week he had thought about this moment, of having Grantaire in his bed, spread out beneath him, fucking him.

They kissed messily, reaching for each other as they moved, as they fucked. Grantaire was making the most astounding noises and it was so liberating to be able to hear him, to catalogue every sound produced by each movement. 

As he increased his speed, fucking harder and deeper into Grantaire, Combeferre began to feel a strange desperation in his gut. He wanted to keep Grantaire. After this, he wanted to wake up with this astounding young person in his bed. He wanted to take him on dates, go to museums, to restaurants, to the library. 

Grantaire shifted, wrapping his legs round Combeferre’s waist, crying out at the change of angle. His hair spilled over the pillows, face twisted to the side.

“Oh shit, don’t stop, oh please,” he begged, hips rising up to meet every thrust. Combeferre had no intention of stopping. If he had his way this would be their natural state. He reached down to take Grantaire in hand, jerking him off in time to his thrusts. Grantaire’s volume only increased, hands scrabbling and clutching at the sheets.

When he came it was with Grantaire’s name on his lips. Combeferre slumped forward, seizing Grantaire’s mouth, kissing him possessively, chest heaving. Grantaire wrapped his hand round Comebferre’s loosening fist, both of them jerking him off until he spilled over his chest, gasping.

“Holy shit!” Grantaire gasped, trying to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed, sweat-matted curls sticking to his forehead.

Combeferre kissed him quiet before pulling out, groaning slightly, tying the condom off before slumping back against the mattress. Automatically, he reached out to the bedside table, passing the box of tissues over.

“You ok?”

It was a daft question; Grantaire was quite clearly ok. If the wide grin didn’t give it away, then the healthy afterglow was a massive clue. The boy rolled his eyes as he cleaned up the mess on his chest, chucking the used tissues onto the floor before tucking himself into Combeferre’s side.

“Stupid question. I thought you were above such things,” he muttered, resting his head on the older man’s chest. Automatically, Combeferre drew his arms round the boy, holding him close. He felt fucked out and at peace with the world.

He felt Grantaire settle in his arms and soon the boy’s breathing deepened, evening out, indicating he had fallen asleep. Glancing down, he was struck by how young he looked. Combeferre swallowed. For now he would suppress the nagging voice reproaching him for what they had done. Grantaire was special; he would never dream of hurting him. But at some point they were going to have to talk about this, about what they were.

But not now. Right now they would just sleep, curled up against one another in Combeferre’s bed and just enjoy the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I do really like this pairing, even though I don't think I've written for it before. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, thank you to Sarah for being my beta (and encouraging me to actually finish the damn thing!)


End file.
